


You Think Too Much

by mikhailomeddows



Series: You Think Too Much [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Character Study?, M/M, Post season 5 (But Gallavich don't Break up), fluff?, mentions of 3x6, mentions of bipolar disorder, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikhailomeddows/pseuds/mikhailomeddows
Summary: “You think too much”Ian had said it as an offhand comment, looking at Mickey as Mickey looked up at the stars above them, thinking.





	You Think Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> so, I basically wrote this in my head as I was trying to sleep and wrote it down in the morning so here you go :)

“You think too much”

Ian had said it as an offhand comment, looking at Mickey as Mickey looked up at the stars above them, thinking.

And yeah, Mickey did think a lot, because thinking was easier than telling. He’d think whilst on runs with his dad and brothers, think about acting as tough as possible, as manipulative as possible, as _straight_ as possible, just to make sure the beatings his dad dealt out daily weren’t as violent.

He’d think whilst fucking random girls. Think about how their tits and curves and pink lips should be what made him hard, made him want to hear their moans as he thrust into them. Instead, he’d find himself thinking about hard abs as he’d hold onto their hips, large hands as the nameless girl’s smaller ones would cling to him and gruff pants next to his ears as high-pitched moans would sound underneath him.

He’d think whilst Ian Gallagher was fucking _him_. Think that they’d be caught if he was too loud, think that he shouldn’t be enjoying this at all, think that somehow his dad would know and that this may be one of the last things he ever did whilst breathing. Thinks that maybe this time he wouldn’t leave straight away.

He thinks about Ian as “The Russian” climbs on top of him. Thinks as blue locks with teary green and flickers over bruised and bloody skin. Thinks about Ian as he flips her onto her back, wanting this to be over with as soon as possible.

He thinks about as many different ways he could have got out of this situation as he stands in a suit slightly too big at the end of the Hall and watches his pregnant, soon to be wife walk up to him. He thinks about the consequences of telling his dad he doesn’t want this in as many ways as possible, all of which ends in his bloody corpse or- fuck, the thought makes him sick- Ian’s.

He thinks these same thoughts as Ian tells him he’s leaving in the doorway of his and his new wives bedroom. “Don’t- “he’d managed to get out, trying to convey his thoughts to Ian’s turned back as tears welled up in his eyes. Ian had still left.

Mickey thinks so many things at once as he sees Ian dancing on some old man’s lap. He thinks about how fucking relieved he is to see Ian’s ginger head in the strobe lights of the bar without any bullets in it or battle wounds from running off to the army. He thinks about how angry he is, at both Ian and himself. He thinks about how he’s angry at Ian because he seems happy and healthy, dancing in nothing but golden shorts and a feather boa, whilst Mickey had spent the last few months drowning in self-loathing and fucking _missing_ the ginger prick. He thinks about how he’s angry at himself for letting Ian slip through his fingers so easily because he’s terrified of his father and his wife and what she has steadily growing inside her. 

Mickey thinks of _that day_ as Svetlana bursts in to the Gallagher house, holding a small, white bundle in her arms. He thinks about how disgusted and angry his dad had been when he’d caught him and Ian together, thinks about the taste of metal in his mouth and the fading vision as his father’s gun came down onto his head again and again and again. He thinks about how terrified Ian was as he watched Mickey and Svetlana and, as he catches a glimpse of baby blue eyes, he thinks about how he never wanted this.

He thinks and thinks and thinks after Fiona told him about Ian, told him about depression and mania and bipolar. He tries to wrap his brain around it and understand what is happening with Ian, why he was bouncing off walls and barely sleeping to crying silently under Mickey’s covers when he thinks no one can hear him and refusing to leave the spot he’d been lying in for three days. Mickey thinks as he climbs into bed next to Ian, thinks about what he’d read on his stolen laptop about bipolar disorder and how it matched with Ian. He thinks about how he could have been the one to cause this, putting him through all this stress and trauma when he could have just left- should have left the first time Mickey told him he was “Just a warm mouth”. He thinks as Ian shuffles into him slightly, his green eyes open but not seeing, thinks about how fucking bright those eyes used to be before they burnt out entirely.

Mickey thinks about how he should have seen this coming as he dials Ian’s number for the fiftieth time that day. How he should have gotten Ian to see a doctor when Fiona and Lip told him to and how he should have seen the warning signs. He thinks too much as he demands Ian to call him the fuck back. He thinks about how fucking terrified he is of Ian getting hurt, of his _son_ getting hurt and he thinks about how stupid and blind and happy he’d been to have Ian back to somewhat normal that he didn’t want to let him go. He thinks and thinks and thinks before he finally tells “I love you” into the phone, his words thick and caught over tears.

Mickey thinks about how relieved he is as he runs from his house to the Gallagher’s were Ian is waiting for him. He catches the locks of ginger as he rounds the corner in his peripheral vision and his thoughts are overwhelming, so fucking loud, screaming nothing but worry and regret and _love._ He thinks about how he never wants to let this boy go as Ian yells at him about how he can’t be fixed and how this is him now, and Mickey tells him so. Mickey, for once, barely thinks before he tells Ian he loves him, directly, to his tear streaked, freckled, beautiful face, and it seems all thoughts other than _fuck, I missed you, I love you, don’t you ever fucking leave me again_ stop as Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck and sobs.

And Mickey thinks as he lies on the grass next to his boyfriend, looking up at the bright stars that remind him of Ian’s freckles. He thinks the simultaneously most terrifying and comforting thought he’d ever thought before: he was in love with Ian Gallagher.

The same Ian Gallagher that would fuck him in the coolers of the Kash ‘n Grab without complaint, even when his eye’s screamed that he wanted something more than what Mickey could give. The same Ian Gallagher that left him in pieces after he left for the army with barely anything to help him put himself back together. The same Ian Gallagher that returned home manic and high but still beautiful but crashed so hard Mickey was afraid he’d never properly see him again. The same Ian Gallagher that loved Yevgeny so fiercely, even though he saw the same day Mickey saw whenever he looked into his baby blue eyes. The same Ian Gallagher that refused to believe he was bipolar because of how badly his mother influenced his thoughts on mental health, but yet he still wanted to get better. The same Ian Gallagher who, whenever he thinks Mickey’s not looking, stares at him like he’s his fucking world and traces his features with light touches when he thinks Mickey’s asleep.

And fuck, maybe Mickey had never experienced love for anyone other than his sister before, and maybe the thought that Ian was the one who owned his heart and soul now without Mickey having a say in it terrified him, but loving Ian Gallagher was probably one of the best things Mickey has ever done.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! leave a comment if you enjoyed?  
> Twitter: mikhailomeddows  
> 


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